


In the Ring

by Miri1984



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock sometimes doesn't work out in the gym alone. He never asks who his sparring partner is, and his sparring partner never asks him either. A series of drabbles in the Daredevil/MCU universe, ongoing, probably not going to have much plot, just little snippets of life between superheroing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Ring

Matt’s senses are ridiculous. Foggy tells him so, frequently. Almost hourly in fact. He tries not to, but now that Foggy knows he can’t stop himself from spilling out information that he had to keep bottled up whenever his friend was around. That pastrami is going to make you sick, don’t order the sandwich, Foggy. She likes you, no I’m not kidding, I can tell. Don’t worry about the noise from the xbox, your neighbours are out.

He stops himself from giving Foggy specific information about people, he doesn’t tell him when he knows someone is lying, he doesn’t tell Foggy when he knows Foggy is lying, even though Foggy never really lied around Matt, not in the ways that Foggy thinks he did.

There’s a difference between lying and not meaning what you say.

Matt doesn’t know how to explain that difference to his best friend.

In any case, his senses are ridiculous, and he usually makes sure that the boxing ring is empty when he comes in to work out, because it’s easier than explaining to someone why the lights are off, why he’s alone in here, why he has to keep punching the bag to make things go away (or to keep them close, the memory of how the Murdock vs Creel poster looks is so clear, he checks it sometimes with his fingers, imagines he can feel the ink on the print, even though he knows it’s just his memory providing what he wants to feel).

He hears the man come in. He knows Carter isn’t at the desk, but the man who comes in takes cash from his pocket (crisply ironed, good quality cotton) and smooths it carefully on the counter. The notes are worn, old, and the hands that smooth them out belong to a shape that gives off a fresh, lively scent. He’s clean, and he’s full of energy and health. So much that Matt is momentarily overwhelmed, and he rests his taped hand against the bag, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” a voice says, and it too is rich and vibrant. The man  _throbs_ with life. Matt doesn’t think he’s ever come across someone so… so bright.

He doesn’t turn his head. “For what?” he asks quietly.

“I thought the gym was empty,” he says. “It’s past closing but Carter said…”

“It’s not a private gym,” Matt says, smiling a little. “I can’t throw you out.”

“I’m a little well known in Brooklyn,” the man says, and although Matt can’t see it, the tone of the voice suggest an ironic smile. “Sometimes it’s nice to punch a few bags where no one is going to stop me for an autograph.”

“I would have thought,” Matt says carefully, “that you were well known everywhere.”

The bag that Matt was punching shifts a little, the other man’s hand steadying it, taking up the stance of a sparring partner. Ready for Matt to take out his anger and his guilt. He doesn’t know who this man is, not really. And the man doesn’t know who he is either.

“Well known is such a strange phrase, really, isn’t it?” the man says. “We don’t have to know each other to share something.”

Matt smiles and lands a punch on the bag. The bag doesn’t move at all. The man on the other side of it doesn’t even give a grunt.

“I think we share a lot,” he says.


End file.
